


Scenes from the Life of a Reluctant Santa

by Amsel



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: AU, M/M, Modern Setting, christmas theme, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amsel/pseuds/Amsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santa Marcus really hates his life. There's the shop-bought cookies, the dirty chimneys, the spoilt children. And he's missing that special person from his life he could whisk to the North Pole to spend the other 360 days with...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Christmas Crew

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the Eagle kink meme:   
> _You think that Santa is a old fat guy with white beard who always wears red cloths?  
>  Yes?  
> Well you are wrong.  
> Because Santa Marcus may be a lot of things but he isn't fat or old. And forget about red funny costume.  
> Giving children presents is more like black ops operation._
> 
> _Marcus kind of hate his job. He doesn't like kids (since one small cute girl named Cottia knee-caped him with a baseball bat leaving him lame - for her defense, she thought he is a burglar), and because he is a magic creature he has to follow all Christmas traditions (eating cookies made by kids for him is one of them- so he has to be on permanent diet to stay in shape because of this one night in year)...also, he is single- for the last 40 years.  
>  Marcus really hate his job.  
> One Christmas he is caught by Esca (small-town cop) when he is leaving presents for his nephew Ronan. Esca is standing under the mistletoe...and Marcus must follow tradition. So after amazing kiss he is wholeheartedly beaten into the floor and then taken to a police station._
> 
> _Esca is a little bit curious about this crazy guy but he doesn't believe even for one second that Marcus is really a Santa. Then he starts finding refiners in his garden and is stalked by two guys in elves costumes who most of the time don't know if they want to make out or have a fight. Also, Marcus made whole station smell like Christmas (home-made cookies, cinnamon etc.) and thinks that Esca is a love of his life._

“Ow! Ouch. Damn it! Sweet Northern Stars!”

The chimney reverberated with curses. There was a thump, a vituperative curse, and a small cloud of blue appeared, emanating from the boarded-up fire-place.

“Oh, you have to be joking! What Health and Safety conscious idiot boarded up the fire-place? Oh, where is the coal? Placidus! Wrap up some coal for whoever boarded up the fire-place!”

High-pitched giggling came down the chimney. There was another curse, and the blue cloud in the living room, which had been slowly dissipating, was re-injected with blue.

Very slowly, the screws holding the clap-board to the chimney breast unscrewed, until they fell down. Fingers in black gloves appeared from behind, shoving the board away, and out of the chimney climbed a lithe figure, placed the board to the side, bad-tempered bent into the chimney and yanked down a sack after him. It popped out of the chimney along with a cloud of black soot. The dark figure cursed again, and the blue intensified.

“Right. Let's see.” the figure pulled a creased notebook out of his pocket, flipped it open and sat down on the sofa, smearing soot over the cream satin finish.

“Tarquin, aged nine. Tarquin. Sweet Northern Stars, your parents hate you, don't they. So. Have you been good? You are a snotty little brat with a grasping personality, which your parents enable shamefully by giving you everything you indicate you might like. Apart from that, you do actually have a few good points, since you have an aunt with a large boisterous family who see to it you aren't going to turn into a complete waste of space. If this was the 1900s, I'd leave you a lump of coal and a piece of gingerbread, but let you off the beating you richly deserve for pulling the cat's tail the other day. Instead, I am giving you five computer games, a large selection of chocolate, a football, a remote-controlled car your daddy always wanted to play with, a complete set of Harry Potter your mummy always wanted to read, a pair of flippers, a mask and a snorkel, use them you pudgy little menace, it'll do you good, a doll, sorry, articulate action man, a toy gun, I feel like a weapons dealer, this is a festival of peace, not war, a dvd of Shrek, a dvd of Wallace and Gromit, and a cup-cake baking set from your granddad, because he's the only one who has realised you love working in the kitchen. Have a Merry Christmas, now where did you leave my plate?”

The figure got up, pocketed the notebook, shook out the sack underneath the tree, brightly-wrapped presents tumbling out, pushed them into a semblance of order with his foot, tucked the now-empty sack into a pocket and looked around. Behind him, there was a thump from the fire-place.

“Oh for fuck's sake, boss. Did you have to make such a mess?”

A young man had come down the chimney, looking around dismayed. The blue cloud, which had once again dissipated, reappeared.

“Sorry Liathan. Do you see the food and drink anywhere?”

“There. They've put it on that foot-stool next to the fire-place. You placed the board in front of it,”  
Liathan answered, pulling a brush and dustpan out of his pocket and beginning to sweep up the soot from the sofa and carpet.

The other man limped over and pulled a plate and glass off a small wooden stool. He sniffed the glass, and took a sip.

“Not bad. Egg-nog. Non-alcoholic, more's the pity, but I'll let it go because the boy made it himself. And...” he bit into a cookie. “Yuck. Store-bought, by that lazy cow of a mother. I can feel the additives. Don't they read the labels? There's sodium in here, and you don't want to know what the preservatives are doing to my digestion!”

“I wish you had taken a sabbatical during the Seventies,” a peevish voice came from the direction of the fire-place, and a tall, sharp-featured man popped into the room bearing a small wrapped piece of coal. “Ever since you heard about wheat-germ you obsessively read about everything the food industry does. I haven't had a good American steak in years!”

“Placidus, the Americans dope their animals with antibiotics and growth hormones. You might as well eat the effluvia coming from a chemical plant. Anyway, ever since we adhere to a strict vegetarian diet during the year, we are much fitter for the Christmas week. I haven't been in such good shape for years. Remember when I used to be fat? I regularly got stuck in Chimneys! There was a popular song about it!”

“And I regularly got to eat meat, and it wasn't just the cheap stuff in pork pies at Christmas,” Placidus mumbled rebelliously. 

Liathan sniggered. 

“What are you sniggering for?” Placidus asked, after taking one of the cookies on the plate and eating it.

“Oh, just relishing the fact that as junior elf, I don't get any of the cookies or anything on the plates. It's just the two of you who are allowed to eat them. It's in my contract. That also means I don't have to detox with caraway seeds and fresh wheat germ juice at the end of the year.”

Placidus pulled a face.

“I'm sorry about you not getting any of the cookies, Liathan,” the third man said earnestly, finishing off the egg-nog. “But you should really think about joining us in the detox. You feel so refreshed afterwards. All the toxins leave your body, and you can really feel the energy of clean chakras revitalising you,” 

Placidus looked constipated. 

“Thank you, Marcus, but you know my people don't approve of wheat germ,” Liathan said piously. “We believe it saps a man's strength, and how would I help you train when I am a weakling?”

“I am sure I could talk to your Elders for you, Liathan,” Marcus answered. 

“No! No, don't do that. You know what my father is like, please, Marcus. There is really no need, I will just have to go on eschewing a vegetarian diet. Please don't come between me and the customs of my tribe,”

“Oh, well. Sorry, Liathan.” embarrassed, Marcus hung his head. 

Liathan threw Placidus a triumphant look, which he answered with such an expressive face that another blue cloud formed.

“Right, well, we'd better get going, if you've finished clearing up. We need to go next door, to the twins. Little shits. I hate children. Can you manage the rest here?”

“Sure, Santa,” Placidus said.

Marcus vanished up the chimney again.

“Bastard,” Placidus said to Liathan, once the soles of the black combat boots had vanished.

Liathan grinned. “Just because you weren't quick enough to come up with a water-tight reason not to diet with Santa Marcus doesn't mean I wasn't. I am not picking at carrot quiches and a glass of boiled water when I can be eating fresh seal meat.”

Placidus heaved a great sigh. “He needs to get laid. Forty years celibacy isn't good for a boy like that. It makes him think,”

Liathan sighed too. “Tell me about it. But all the girls available nowadays hop around in these awful red outfits. Remember that Sherri? Had the red and white underwear and the hat, but forgot the clothes on top? Didn't last more than half an hour before she was so cold she couldn't even sing HoHoHo anymore. We had to take her back immediately to Florida.”

“Or that man in Los Angeles? I was sure he was going to be a good match, but he kept asking where the camera was and if the studio knew about the shoot, and whether they should use the candy cane. Very odd man,”

“But good-looking,” 

“There was that. Come on. Back to the grind-stone. Only another million or so children to bring presents to,”

Another roof top in the street. Things here had gone well, and Placidus was waiting next to the sled, not having gone down. Marcus' head popped back out of the chimney, nose slightly red. 

“HoHoHo! They left spiced wine! And mince pies. From Harrods,” he hopped out of the chimney, fell over his feet and nearly smashed into the sled. Placidus moved to catch him. 

“Here, Placidus, I brought you some,” Marcus said, opening his hands and spilling two rather crushed mince pies into his hands.

“Thanks, Marcus,” Placidus stuffed a mince pie into his mouth.

Liathan hopped out too.

“I think they wanted to get him drunk. That wine had brandy in with it,”

“And good brandy it was too,” Marcus said good-naturedly.

“Come on, Marcus, snap out of it. We still have a lot to do, and you need to drink a lot more dubious sticky drinks. Where's the water?” Liathan asked, steering the drunk Santa towards the sled.

“Here. I've added chilli seeds. Did Stephanos give you a thermos of coffee?”

“Yeah. Extra strong. Here you go, Marcus, down the hatch...”

Another rooftop.  
“So who is this. Cillia, aged two, daughter of – no. No, no, no, I am not giving that hooligan anything!”

“Marcus, she's two. She can't help who her mother is,” Liathan soothed, cursing under his breath and wishing the silly woman hadn't moved into Marcus' distribution district.

“Like mother, like daughter! What's the bet the little bitch is lying in wait trying to brain me with her teddy bear?” 

“I'm sure she's asleep, and her notes have her down as a peaceful little child, never a cross day, good sleeper, unfussy eater, always smiles...” Placidus was flicking through the notebook.

“A serpent in the grass, an asp in my bosom, a sleeper-agent, fifth-columnist...” Marcus railed.

“I'm sorry, Marcus, I really am, but you are honour-bound to give her a fluffy tiger toy with the gift card certification of adoption of a white tiger in Sumatra,” Liathan said.

“Where's the coal, Placidus? Fill a big, dirty sack,” Marcus ordered.

“You should really forgive Cottia at some point,” Placidus said, shoveling coal into a hemp sack. “She's a feisty girl, and a strange man in the living room can lead to misunderstandings,”

“I identified myself, and she still hit me with a cricket bat!”

“That was twenty years ago, Marcus,”

“And I'm still limping,”

“And until she moved out of your distribution district, all you ever brought her was coal. You never ever gave her a toy again, even when she wrote you an apology,”

“She teaches Krav Maga at the community college,” Marcus pointed out. “She's a menace. Her daughter can't be better,”

“Still. Go down, deliver the stuff for little Cillia, and if you must, give Cottia the coal. Even if I think a pound is unwarranted.”

Cursing, absolutely surrounded by blue, Marcus slipped down the chimney. Liathan and Placidus shared a quick look, then quickly went after him. They dropped down into a roomy, clean fire-place, a large bouquet of dried lavender in a pot lying on its side.

“See?” Marcus asked, lightly kicking the pot. “She left it in the fire place, hoping I would break my legs,”

Peevishly, he limped into the room.

“Did you hurt yourself coming down? Your limp is much worse than it was a moment ago,” Placidus said.

“I fell over her booby trap!” Marcus roared, throwing the small bag containing gift card and toy tiger at the tasteful ethical plastic Christmas tree. “Where did you leave the sack of coal?”

“Here, Marcus. Oh, and look. Here's the plate of cookies,” Placidus said soothingly, fetching a pretty tray with a covered glass and a plate of beautifully presented biscuits.

“She poisoned them, mark my words,” Marcus said darkly.

Liathan took a sniff. “Actually, they smell really divine. If you want, I can try one, as a food tester,” he said hopefully.

Marcus made a growly sound. Liathan took one of them and bit into it.

“Mmh. Very delicate. Melts on the tongue. A butter biscuit. And not a trace of almonds. You should be safe,”

Another curse coloured the air blue, and Marcus stuffed the other cookie into his mouth, then took the glass and sniffed carefully.

“Does this smell off to you?” he asked Placidus.

“No. It's malted milk. You like malted milk, Marcus.”

“I don't like it when it's off,”

“It's not off. Hold your nose and drink it down, you know you have to,”

Marcus made a face, puckered his lips, and poured the creamy concoction back. Liathan rescued the glass and replaced it on the tray.

“Ok. Done. Let's go,” Marcus said, burped, and jumped into the fire place again. The other two clambered after him.

They took their places in the sled, and Marcus started the engine. “So, over to those new people. What's the boy's name? Ronan?”

“Yes. Whole family moved here,” Placidus consulted the creased notebook again. “The Mac Cunovals. Police family, everybody on the force. Grandfather is the retired commissioner, father's a superintendent, mother's a superintendent. And grandmother was one of the first detective inspectors in the country.”

“Sound very law abiding,” Marcus said, then stopped the sled mid-air. “I think I'm going to be sick. I knew that milk was off.” 

He leaned over the side to vomit onto a group of young toughs out drinking.

“The boy can really hold a grudge,” Liathan said admiringly.


	2. The Police Perspective

“Hands up, you shit. I'm an armed police officer, and I am arresting you for breaking and entering,” Esca spat.

The dark shape crouched beneath the Christmas Tree paused.

“Hands up” Esca ordered again. 

One hand still clasped around the sweaty hilt of his gun, the other scrabbled for the light switch to his brother's living room. 

He found the switch and clicked it. The lights flared on, and Esca blinked in the sudden brightness.

Before him, under the ridiculous large Evergreen that had died to brighten his sister-in-laws Christmas, crouched a figure in black fatigues, hands raised above his head.

“Get up slowly, and turn to face me,” Esca ordered.

The shape rose. And kept on rising. Esca swallowed. This guy was built! 

“Turn to face me!”

The figure turned. Esca couldn't help staring. Not only was the guy built, he was handsome, too. 

He cursed under his breath. Why were the pretty ones always either heterosexuals or crooks?

“It's alright. I'm Santa,” the guy said soothingly.

Esca felt his mouth drop oen. “What? Man. I've heard a few, but this one takes the biscuit. You were breaking and entering and incidentally stealing my nephew's presents!”

“Oh, no, I was bringing some for Ronan, and … Hey! Mistletoe!”

Perturbed, Esca stared at the man. He was smiling broadly, and he was beautiful, and the next minute, he was on him.

This is it, Esca thought. I'm dead.

The guy took his face in his hands, tilted it up and – kissed him.

It was silk and champagne, soft and luscious, perfect bow lips nudging, grazing hint of teeth, hot tongue flicking across lips and entering his mouth, brushing teasingly over his palate. Soft lips disengaging, feather kiss on his brow, his eyelid, his nose, cheek...

Esca caught himself, instinct kicking in. His hands, which were still clutching the gun, came up, he managed to swipe his arms over in a controlled wave, catching the guy unawares, struck out with his right leg and managed to catch the man in the knees, pulling forward. The man lost his balance and fell. 

Unfortunately, he had draped his arms lightly around Esca's head, so Esca went tumbling with him.

“Rough sex? I like it,” the man said happily, setting his hands around Esca's hips and lifting him decisively over his crotch.

Esca's traitorous cock immediately stood up and took notice.

Esca swore a loud oath and scrabbled at the back of his uniforn for his cuffs, bringing them out as he heard steps on the stairs. 

He managed to cuff one wrist and was just catching the other from where it was stroking a part of him that was much too happy with the burglar to make an arrest when his brother burst into the room.

“Burglar!” Esca squeaked, out of breath for more reasons than one, and his brother nodded, business-like, when the chocolaty voice from beneath him said:

“Hey! Aren't we supposed to discuss safe words before we start having kinky sex?”

Interview room, the police station.  
“So you're Father Christmas,” Esca said, rubbing at his burgeoning headache.

“No, I told you. I'm Marcus,” the man sitting across from him in the dingy interview room said, smiling a huge dopey smile.

“You were caught in No. 12 Pine Lane in the act of removing...”

“Bringing, not removing. Hey, did you know Pine Lane was renamed in the 1960s? It used to be called Whore's Corner,”

The policeman sitting in stifled a snigger.

“Let's get back to you breaking and entering, and away from localisms about prostitutes,” Esca suggested.

“There's no need to get defensive. The name goes back to when there used to be a whore-house there in medieval times. It was a respectable profession,” the man said.

“Listen, Santa Claus,”

“Santa Marcus, if you want to be formal. Which I don't want you to be. Call me Marcus, after all, you are my heart,”

The man looked at him with a beaming smile. The policeman in his chair was giggling quietly. Esca wanted to bang his head on the desk.

“Alright, Marcus. Let's take it from the top. You entered the house at 12 Pine Lane. How did you do that?”

“From the chimney. Nice clean one, by the way. I was very pleased,”

“I'll be sure to tell them. And then what did you do?”

“I checked to see whether Ronan had been good. Then I got out the presents for him. A toy policeman's helmet, a young detective kit, a torch, a penknife, toy handcuffs, The Cops and the Robbers book, nice choice, lovely drawings, and the complete set of Artemis Fowl from you. By the way, aren't you going against type? Artemis Fowl is a crook, not a policeman,” 

Esca's mouth dropped open. 

“You opened all the presents?” he managed finally. 

“No, you silly sausage. I took them down. Liathan wrapped them. It's his job as junior elf. I take them down and lay them under the tree. Rather big for the living room, though, isn't it?” 

“Ok. So you bring presents for everyone,” Esca pressed out.

“No, only for children. Although I know what grown-ups get, too. And I sometimes leave coal when the grown-ups have been bad.”

“Coal.”

“Yes. It's tradition. People are forgetting, though,” the man pouted. He pouted beautifully.

“And you are omniscient about other people's presents,”

“Well, I know what people get, and what the sentiment is behind it. Like when your ex-boyfriend gave you nipple-clamps and a dildo, and you thought he wanted to make you a sub? Actually, he wanted to be a sub. Although I'm glad you left him, because it leaves you free for me!”

Esca hid his flaming face in his hands.

“Give me strength!”

“Are you alright, Esca? You look tired. Do you want to come back to mine and sleep? I've got to work until Christmas morning, you can have the bed. It's comfy, but if you don't like it we can get a different one later,” the man – Marcus – said solicitously. 

Esca squirmed, the policeman behind them collapsed in on himself laughing, and there was thunderous knocking from behind the two-way mirror.

“Interview ended,” Esca snarled.

The corridor outside.  
“What do you want me to say, dad?”

Esca's father sighed. “Are you certain you haven't picked him up in some unsavoury club, is all I'm asking. He knows a lot of personal things about you,”

And so does the station, now, and tomorrow it'll have been twice around the stations in Greater Yorkshire, Esca translated in his head. Come Boxing Day, the other commisioners will be ringing you up to ask about your fag son involved with the local gay criminal population.

“The thing with Archie's presents he may have got from Archie, because I certainly never talked about it to anybody,” Esca said, hanging on to patience by a hair's breadth. 

“Ah, yes, Archie,” Commisioner (Rt'd) MacCunoval said forbiddingly. Esca thought it was unfair that his dad had liked Archie better than his own son. The painful break-up for reasons that still freaked Esca out was exacerbated by his family's disappointment in Esca for letting the relationship go. 

“Well. We'll hold him for 48 hours anyway,” Padraig interjected. “Come on, pip-squeak. Cheer up. This can't be the first time a suspect's tried it on with you,” he added, slinging a brotherly arm around Esca's neck.

 _First time it came over so sincerely I wanted to believe_ , Esca answered in his head.

“I'll finish processing him in at the lock-up, then,” he said, moving off.

“Sure. I came on your bike, by the way. Dad can take me back in the car, here's the keys,” his brother said, flinging them over. Esca caught them, thrust them in his pocket and made for the doors.

The Lock-Up.  
“Hey Harry, Merry Christmas,” he said listlessly to the desk sergeant.

“Same to you, Esca. Come to book in Santa?”

“Yes. Please tell me it's straightforward. I want to get back home and get sloshed,”

“It is, sign here. And here. And here. And...”

Five minutes later, Esca went to check on their newest acquisition. The corridor to the cells was its usual bleak self. Snores were coming from number one, where Billy was sleeping off his traditional Christmas bender. A couple of kids were in two, waiting for a responsible adult to pick them up. And in three...

_“Here we come a-wassailing  
Among the leaves so green,  
Here we come a-wand'ring  
So fair to be seen.  
Love and joy come to you,  
And to you your wassail, too,  
And God bless you, and send you  
A Happy New Year,  
And God send you a Happy New Year.”_

He did have a beautiful voice. Esca paused to listen, leaning against the door. There was an appetizing smell of warm cinnamon and gingerbread biscuits in the air. Esca wondered whether he could find out where Harry and his lads were hiding the goods, and get a biscuit himself.

_“We are not daily beggers  
That beg from door to door,  
But we are neighbors' children  
Whom you have seen before  
Love and joy come to you,  
And to you your wassail, too,  
And God bless you, and send you  
A Happy New Year,  
And God send you a Happy New Year.”_

Esca closed his eyes, and pretended he was at home, listening to carol singers, eating gingerbread and not worrying what the lads thought about him being gay. Then gave up, pushed off the wall and mooched back to Harry.

“Give us one of your ginger biscuits, would you, Harry? I'm starving.”

“Me too, and if I knew who had those biscuits, I'd confiscate them now. They smell like the stuff my mam used to make,” Harry said, and for once he wasn't his usual cynical jaded self.

“Maybe Janet?” Esca said hopefully, referring to the tough desk sergeant who normally shared Harry's shift.

“Nah, Janet's off, grizzling in the loo,” Harry said.

“Wha?” Esca asked intelligently.

“That bloke gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her to call her auntie. Silly girl did, now her auntie's apologised to her for whatever big family row they had ten years ago, and Janet's been crying ever since,” Harry said, looking uncomfortable and then quickly wiping a hand over his eyes.

Dumbly, Esca nodded, gathered up his jacket and left the lock-up. 

In the parking lot.  
He found his bike where his brother had left it. He also found trouble.

“Dear Northern Stars. It's PC Plod. This is what he's fallen for?” a supercilious voice asked behind him.

Esca whirled. Two men were standing in the car park, staring at him. 

“Maybe he has hidden depths,” the other said. He was not as tall, but much better looking, if rather exotic. He was dressed in black combats, had what appeared to be grey paint slathered over him and a mohawk topped with an animal skull. If he hadn't been smiling at Esca, Esca would have tried to run there and then. 

“Well-hidden, you mean,” the other man came nearer. At least he wasn't dressed in skins, nor was his face painted. He was dressed in dark clothing of a more formal cut. His face looked as if he had trodden into dog poo. 

“This chap here is absolutely manky,” he sniffed, delicately. “He smells. Don't you use a shower?” he asked Esca.

“Hang on,” Esca started.

“So what's your name?” the younger man asked.

“I'm with the police; I advise you any violence is a bad idea,” Esca said, slowly backing away, ready to defend himself and hoping the noise would attract some help from his colleagues.

“Calm down, there. See what you did, Placidus? You frightened him,” the young man said.

The man identified as Placidus sniffed again, but took a step back, bringing his hands up in a conciliating gesture. 

“I'm Liathan, and your Marcus' new guy,” the younger turned to Esca.

“What?” Esca managed.

“You know, Marcus. Santa? You stood under the mistletoe and kissed him, and now he's fallen for you?”

“I did not kiss him!” Esca exploded.

“Oh, yes, you did,” Liathan called back gleefully. “And he fell in love with you. I hope you're worth it. The last time he fell in love with a guy it was some Victorian closet case prude, and got his heart broken,”

“Not that you'd remember, Liathan. It was me having to pick up the pieces,” Placidus interjected. 

“Pick up what pieces? All you did was walk behind him with your little pissy face on wrapping up coal in wrapping paper while Marcus binged on Christmas Pudding! He's an emotional binge eater,” Liathan confided in an aside. “You need to watch that. When he's at the cake, something's wrong.”

Esca had backed up slowly until his back hit the police station wall, the two bickering men moving with him.

“So, anyway. Are you going to be his thing for the next century or so?” Placidus asked.

“I'm not – No! What?” Esca managed.

“Fantastic,” Placidus sighed. “Another flop. I want a transfer.”

“Who'd take you?” Liathan asked snidely.

“Santa Claudius Marcellus will need a new elf, soon. I've already applied. Marcus' love-lorn passive-aggressiveness was getting right up my nose.”

“I thought it was hilarious. Anyway, he won't be passive-aggressive much longer, now he's in love,”

“Now it'll be carols all day long,” Placidus said gloomily. “Unless this waste of space dumps him, in which case it will be moodiness,”

“On the other hand, Marcus will come off the diet, and you can eat all the meat you want,” Liathan said. “Unless he sticks with him, in which case Marcus will also come off the diet, and everything will be fun and pleasant for each and every one of us, even if he might not be able to sit comfortably, because Marcus! Titan rod, know what I'm saying – hey! Where did you go?”

Esca had ducked away carefully while the two men talked over each other, and was sidling along the wall, mobile pressed to his ear. Why weren't the emergency services picking up, for Christ sakes? What a time to be out without his RT. Locking up his gun in the station – also bad move. Keeping a sharp eye on the two guys he crept backward towards the entrance to the station. The weird men didn't move, just grinned and waved happily. There was a thud behind him. Esca backed into a warm chest, his head coming to rest under somebody's chin. 

“Hey there,” the warm chocolate voice of his recent prisoner said, and two hands were laid casually on his hip to steady him.

Esca whirled around.

“How did you get out?”

“I opened the grille to the AV, crawled along it until I found the exhaust pipe, crawled up the chimney and then jumped down from the roof,” Marcus said calmly, rubbing small circles on Esca's hips.

“Bullshit!”

Marcus gave him a small frown. 

“How else was I going to get out?” he asked.

“Through the door?” 

“I don't really like doors. I always go for the chimney option if I can,” Marcus said, bringing up his hands, settling one on Esca's shoulder and the other carefully cupping his cheek.

“I really need to get back to work,” he said apologetically. 

“Wait, you're arrested!” Esca squeaked.

“Yes, I know. Rather embarrassing. I haven't been caught for years. But it must have been fate. You arresting me under the mistletoe...” The soppy smile was back.

“This is really creepy stalker behaviour,” Esca pressed out.

Marcus lost the blitzed smile. “What? I'm not a creepy stalker!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

“You – I am not having a childish argument with you!” Esca said.

“Good.” Marcus pecked him on the lips.

“Don't do that! Jesus,” Esca started.

“Marcus. Not Jesus. I want that very clear. I don't want competition in your affections, thank you,” Marcus pouted.

“Competition - Marcus! We are not boyfriends!”

“But we could be. I like you, and you like me. Where's the problem?”

“Yes, where's the problem, what's-your-name?” Liathan asked, tooling up next to them.

“Yes, please don't be shy and awkward,” Placidus added. “And what is his name, anyway,” he added.

“This is Esca MacCunoval. He's a detective sergeant with the Yorkshire Police,” Marcus introduced.

“We figured he's a copper. But is he naughty or nice?” Liathan asked with a salacious grin.

“Vanilla with a chocolate centre,” Marcus answered dreamily.

“And that right there was creepy stalker,” Esca interjected, gently disengaging and taking a careful couple of steps away from the warm embrace.

Marcus' face fell. “I'm sorry, Esca. Please?” He held out a hand.

Esca took another careful step away.

“Let's try again. How did you get out of the prison cell?”

“I already told you. But if you are asking for a rational explanation, there isn't one. It's magic.” Marcus dropped his hand, sounding a little peeved.

“Magic,” Esca said.

“Yes. How else do you suppose I can get into and out of chimneys? They aren't exactly roomy.”

“And you used to be fat,” Liathan interjected.

“Yes, thank you, not helping,” Marcus said testily.

“Great. Lovers tiff.” Placidus groaned.

“We are not lovers!” Esca shouted. 

“Look, Esca, this isn't actually a good time for Marcus to do the whole wining and dining wooing thing,” Liathan said quickly. “He has to work, and so do we. We're behind schedule. So, if I may make a suggestion, you go and have a sleep, because you look knackered, seriously, mate, and we finish the present run, and come Christmas morning Marcus can come round to yours, bring you your presents personally, make you Christmas breakfast and then shag your brains out , how about that?”

“I think you had them until the shag part,” Placidus commented after a moment.

Esca's flat, the next morning.  
Esca slowly opened his eyes, staring at the nasty wallpaper above his bed. One day he would paint it. One day. He slowly turned on his side, bunching the duvet around him. Sunlight danced on the walls, making his poky surroundings look almost cheerful. It was icy cold in the room, and Esca hitched his duvet higher. 

Then he realised that his window was open. With a curse, he sat up, bundled himself in his ratty dressing gown and slammed the window shut. Then sat down again on his bed, shaking his head. What a convoluted, impossible dream. He stifled a giggle, thinking about how his sub-conscious had invented a good-looking hunk with the hots for him, who was also caring and kind. What kind of bodice-ripper fantasy had that come out of? He wandered down the hall into the bathroom to piss and clean his teeth, then gave a yawn and decided to see if there was anything to eat in the fridge. 

If not, he'd have to mooch over to his brother and see if he could cadge a snack before dinner. Bits of yesterdays dream came back to him on the way. He chortled rather self-consciously at the way he'd gone back home from the station – on a flying sled, with him sitting on Santa Marcus' lap because there was no other space free, Marcus copping a feel, him retaliating, a snog over quiet York, Liathan and Placidus making disgusted sounds from the back, Marcus opening the window to his flat and sending him to bed with a kiss on his brow... He shook his head and stepped into the kitchen.

The place had been scrubbed. The dirty dishes in the sink were gone. The hob had been cleaned of its encrustations. A pot of tea was steaming gently on the small breakfast bar. There were four tea mugs sitting beside it, three of which had evidently been used. There was even a small jug of milk. A porcelain jug of milk. A god-awful amusingly shaped jug in the form of a cow, with the tail as a handle and the muzzle as a spout his father had brought him from his last holiday in St. Ives. Esca had hidden it in the back of cupboard. How was it out?

“He's awake!” 

Esca jumped and whirled.

Liathan stood behind him, still a strange figure in grey paint and animal skull head dress, made stranger by the bright pink marigolds he was sporting. He was grinning. Another figure popped his head out of the living room. Placidus, Esca's mind supplied. 

“At last. And your home is a disgrace. We've been cleaning for hours!” he grumbled. “And don't you believe in groceries? There was half a loaf of bread and a jar of Marmite. And a crate of beer. Are you a student?”

He was shoved out of the way.

“Esca! Merry Christmas!” Marcus stepped up to him, and took his face into his (large, warm, strong) hands. He bent his head and placed a very soft kiss on his lips. “Did you sleep well?” he asked quietly.

Dumbly, Esca nodded, then pinched himself. But he didn't wake up. 

“If you're awake, I'll start breakfast,” Marcus said happily. “Do you want coffee? Or I can make a fresh pot of tea! What do you eat? I'm mainly vegetarian, but I can make you a full English if you want,” he bounced into the kitchen.

“Right, boss. We're off,” Liathan said. “See you next week,” 

“See you, guys,” Marcus hailed from the kitchen.

Esca opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Then rubbed his face.

“Have fun. And for pity's sake, please don't hurt him,” Placidus said to him. “He's a puppy,”

“Yeah, if he misbehaves, just swat his nose with a newspaper,” Liathan added with a grin. He opened the flat door. “Seriously though. Marcus is a good guy. He's very giving. Just have fun,”

They left. The door closed, and the flat was silent apart from noises from the kitchen, and then a baritone started singing. 

_“Good King Wenceslas..._

Esca squared his shoulders, and walked into the kitchen to his Christmas morning breakfast. Whatever else, he was going to enjoy his Christmas present. There might even be unwrapping involved after all.


End file.
